


Trinket Box

by aisarete



Category: Aladdin (1992), The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: (and it's this), Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, But only a little bit at the end, But only as appropriate for time and context, But to be fair that clears up near the end, Did I mention the Dubious Consent?, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Except that it's actually venom, Face-Fucking, Gratuitous Smut, I Blame Tumblr, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, It could go completely without but I like context, Jafar has two dicks?, Like for real the plot is just hanging by a thread, M/M, My First AO3 Post, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen, Sex Venom?, Sex with Mystical Beings, Shameless Smut, Slurs, Sounding, What Was I Thinking?, When I went back to edit this I wondered what I was high on, Why Did I Write This?, also, dubious everything really, naga sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 03:21:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8951971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aisarete/pseuds/aisarete
Summary: Clopin has his heart set on a special gift for Esmeralda's birthday, but it's pricey. The purse of that tall foreigner in dark robes sure would help...ORClopin steals. Jafar stalks. Sex ensues.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For actual info concerning the story, read the end notes. This has been thoroughly edited but never beta'd.
> 
> I'm sorry/notsorry I ever wrote this. It is really, really trippy to go back years later and read this. I must have been on fumes or something.
> 
> OTP fumes.
> 
> Because I actually really like this fucking pairing and I actually like my writing here too, and why do I want to write YA novels when my best work always seems to be filled with just enough graphic violence to offset the smut?

Three days. He only had _three days_ procure a present for Esmeralda’s birthday, and only half of the necessary coin. She would not mind, he knew. She would be as happy with a rose from some lord’s garden as with fine cloth or jewels. It was normally a day that passed only lightly remarked upon, but this year she would be fourteen and could be truly considered a woman. Clopin would never see her as such, but he felt he should get her something special nonetheless. He had searched high and low before finding the perfect gift – a box of filigreed gold inset with mother of pearl and lined in red velvet. The price tag was exorbitant, and there was no way he could break into the jewelsmith’s to steal it. His heart was set on the useless trinket now, though, and his stubbornness would not let him give up so easily.

This is why he slid through the shadows of the city in search of an easy mark, dipping sticky fingers into pockets as he brushed against the richer denizens of Paris. They would back away from him in disdain, of course, but none had yet suspected or called the guard, so he figured he hadn’t yet lost his touch.

Ah, there was the perfect mark - a tall, dark man dressed richly in black and red strode by, trailing the scent of spices and musk. A foreigner - a rich one at that. With this man’s money he would surely have enough for that stupid trinket box. Clopin slipped from the dark alley he had been resting in and followed along behind him at an easy pace. He soon found he had to speed up a bit to keep up; the man’s legs were much longer and ate up the ground, though with his voluminous robes he appeared to be gliding. The time spent following as inconspicuously as a gypsy ever could gave him time to assess where the man might be hiding his money in those strange clothes.

He walked by on the inside of the street just as the man passed another alley, fingers slipping into elegantly draped fabric to snatch a velvet purse from the man’s hip. It was tied loosely with a silk cord and it was the work of a second to tug it free. He ducked away cleanly as though their paths had been briefly parallel and now simply diverged, sauntering casually down the alley towards the next street with the purse tucked neatly into his belted tunic.

“I believe you have something that belongs to me,” a voice drawled ahead, French accented but flawless.

Clopin gazed in shock at the tall gentleman blocking his path. Even if he had noticed the loss of his coin, he should not have been able to circle around to the other end of the narrow side street and cut him off so soon. Such speed was impossible! No matter. Clopin smiled charmingly, backing away.

“I cannot imagine what you mean,” he responded, “I have little enough that belongs to me, so how could I have that which belongs to you?”

“By the virtue of your clever fingers, I believe,” the man replied smoothly, stalking forward. “I am not over-fond of street rats, and I can’t abide by thieves.” He backed Clopin against the wall, looming. “But I’d rather not harm such a pretty face, so if you return what’s mine I won’t kill you where you stand.”

Clopin continued to smile, though he was pinned. His hand crept to his belt, brushing against a hidden dagger. “I see. What’s yours is yours, and you like to keep it that way. Well, I feel rather the same way. What’s yours is now mine, and I’ll not give it back.” 

He pulled from his belt a pouch of dust, throwing it to the ground. A cloud of colorful smoke filled the alleyway, and while the strange man was blinded he hoisted himself onto the roof of a nearby building and ran, jumping gracefully across the rooftops of the city. He wanted to put as much distance between him and that man as he could in case the foreigner called for help.

The man watched him go, eyes narrowing and lip curled into a sneer.

“You shouldn’t have done that, الفئران في الشوارع…”

-

“Your money’s no good here, gypsy. We don’t serve your kind!”

Clopin fell to his knees as the man shoved him boldly out the door. The cobbled street was cool under his hands, which was nice because the grit had cut into his palms viciously.

“And take your filthy gold with you – I don’t want anything to do with it!”

A small but heavy pouch slammed into his back and knocked him forward as he began to stand, bouncing off to rest by his left ankle. The door of the jewelsmith’s slammed shut. People walking in the streets averted their eyes and gave him wide berth.

Gathering his purse, he stood slowly and slipped back into the shadows.

-

The bag sat atop a crate, accusing him. He glared back balefully.

He had enough. He had more than enough! That last mark, the dark foreigner, had _twice_ what he’d thought. It was no wonder the man had wanted it back! He should have handed it over, for all the good it did him. A dark bruise was forming on his right knee and he was sure there was a sliver of stone still stuck in his hand. The thoughts running through him were sharp and poison sour, and his ego was deflated as well after that rousing bout of public humiliation. Worst of all, he had nothing to show for his ventures. It had not been a good day.

At least the money could be put to use; Clopin sighed in resignation. Not every seller in the market was as elitist as the jewelsmith.

“I told you that was mine.”

Clopin leapt from where he sat in a pile of pillows, eyes searching for the source of the now-familiar drawl. He had grabbed a knife without thinking and brandished it in front of him warily, grip sure.

“Did you think I would let you get away so easily?”

The voice seemed to slither through the air, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. Clopin turned on the balls of his feet and wondered hysterically, almost deliriously, how the man could have followed him back to the Court of Miracles - all the way to his very home! - without being spotted. It simply wasn’t possible. His muscles tensed to spring in any direction as he frowned; trying to pinpoint the man’s location and take him down before any more damage could be done. The guards would need to be… spoken with… but the thought barely brushed the corners of his mind. The issue before him was much more pressing, and more immediately dangerous to everyone, than some incompetent guardsmen.

“Oh, no,” the voice came from behind him now and he spun around. Long fingers closed delicately around the purse, plucking it from the crate and weighing it carefully. The tall man had appeared from nothing just as easily as he had in the alleyway. There was no way to attack from where his stood. Clopin silently shifted into a defensive stance, eyes narrowed, watching every move he made. He would have to wait for the man to make his move and react accordingly. 

“You had your chance. Now you’ll have to be… punished…”

The man disappeared before his eyes and Clopin began to rethink stealing his purse.

“Still,” a voice purred right beside his ear. A hand wrapped around his jaw and forced his head back while a strong arm pulled him flush against a hard chest, twisting his left arm behind him and bending back the wrist painfully until the knife fell from his fingers and clattered to the floor. Clopin's free hand flee up towards his neck, scrambling for purchase at the mysterious man's arm but unable to budge him. “It would be such a waste to kill a pretty little thing like you. Perhaps I can find some other way to discipline you.”

Clopin squirmed, still trying to slip away but finding the man’s grip too tight. His heart pounded in his chest. The question of how this man kept moving so swiftly was answered, at least, he thought wildly. Or, it was answered in part.

“What are you?” The words flew incredulously past Clopin’s lips without his consent. He decided not to take them back, as it was a fair. fucking. question.

“I have been many things. Traittor. Usssurper. Sscourge… Ssssorccerer.” The voice hissed like sandpaper and velvet. A tongue flicked against his ear delicately. “But this does not answer your question, does it? No. What I am, اللص الصغير, is a Djinn. I am the most powerful being in the universe…! And you – should never have crossed me.”

Fangs sank deep into his neck, tearing into his flesh. Clopin cried out as his veins were filled with fire but the hand at his neck tightened, choking the sound. Blood streamed down his shoulder, soaking his tunic. Was this _fucker_ going to eat him?! He struggled fruitlessly, limbs beginning to grow heavy. From the corner of his eye, he could see blood dripping from the man’s wickedly smiling lips. His eyes were dark and slanted. Clopin felt mesmerized, ceasing to struggle.

“Good boy,” the man smirked. His tongue, long and snakelike, lapped up the blood from his wound. It burned, but not in a bad way. Warning bells were going off in Clopin’s mind but they were dim and distant. His breathing slowed and evened out even as his heart raced, pumping venom through his system.

“Who-“ Clopin struggled to form words, blood rushing in his ears. He felt flushed, cheeks warm. It was increasingly hard to think with the long hard body pressed up so tightly against him. He swallowed. “Who are you?”

A chuckle.

“You may call me Jafar.”

Hands raked up his sides, pulling his tunic over his head. Some diminished part of him told him to push away now that his arms were no longer trapped, to attack, to do something; but he only managed to turn towards the man- …djinn- … _Jafar_ and place his hands against his chest. His skin was smooth and dry, as hot as the desert sun. When had he removed his robes? It didn’t make sense, but his mind refused to focus enough to pursue the thought further. A hand grasped his hair and pulled his head back roughly and Clopin decided swiftly he didn’t care. His thoughts were fogged with strange lust and he moaned as a burning mouth suckled at his neck.

Two more hands tugged at his belt, allowing his pants to puddle at his feet. Three hands. Another wrapped around his waist and pulled him even closer, bending him backwards. Four.

His own arms wound around Jafar’s neck of their own accord; knocking off the strange turban-like hat he wore. Long black hair tumbled over his hands like a waterfall of dark silk. Clopin’s fingers buried themselves in the dark strands, pressing into the djinn’s skull, gasping as Jafar bit down hard at his shoulder. His teeth broke the skin even without fangs. It stung bitterly. Clopin wished he would do it again.

“Wha-aat are you doing to me?” He moaned. The room seemed to undulate around him – no, it wasn’t the room. Coils of heated scales wrapped around him, keeping him in place as his legs grew wobbly. The venom still hadn’t quite settled in his system, and his heart was thrumming so intensely that he could feel the rush of blood in his veins. His skin buzzed, his whole body trembling, seeming to vibrate like the twang of a taut wire. Clopin let his shaky hands explore Jafar’s body, noticing the scattering of scales along his chest, gathering down the center of his stomach, spreading across his hips. Jafar graciously allowed him to lean away as he investigated, basking momentarily in the awed attention.

Where his waist met his hips, Jafar’s humanness faded smoothly away and was replaced by a long, looping snake tail. His scales seemed almost black near the top but bled into bright red that shone in the light. Four arms extended from his sides and sharp spines protruded from his shoulders and lower set of elbows. His broad palms ended in long scaled fingers tipped with wicked-looking black claws. He exuded a sense of power and dominance that had Clopin wanting to fall to his knees and worship him, or maybe that was the venom talking. Clopin knew this form.

“Naga,” he exhaled reverentially. He had heard of such beings, and of djinn, and shape-shifters, but never thought he would see one himself. They weren’t supposed to exist, not really. He felt a deep longing spring up inside him as he took a deep breath, taking in his spicy rich scent.

“Yesss… You know what I am?” Jafar seemed surprised but pleased at the revelation. Clopin merely nodded in response, unable to speak. Jafar’s eyes were slit like a snake’s and were now as red as his scales where earlier they were dark and human. Clopin couldn’t look away. He reached out with hesitancy to stroke the trail of scales on his stomach down to where a line parted the skin of Jafar’s lower underbelly. Jafar groaned very quietly at the touch, two identical dicks unsheathing themselves to stand erect, nestled among the red scales. Clopin swayed forward, hands drifting towards the stacked erections, not yet touching but for some reason desperately wanting to.

“What are you doing to me…?” He repeated at a whisper, eyes now fixed hungrily upon the large manhoods.

With a slow-spreading grin, Jafar drew Clopin back in, the folds and coils of his snake body pressing against the back of Clopin’s knees and forcing them to buckle. His lower set of hands settled on Clopin’s shoulders, his upper hands resting on Clopin’s head and dragging him insistently closer.

“It’s more about what _you’ll_ be doing to **me** ,” he quipped, meaning clear.

Clopin stared up at Jafar’s face dubiously. Even in his haze of lust, he felt unsure about such a proposition.

“Both?” He questioned simply.

Jafar started back at him for a few tense moments before throwing back his head and laughing. It was a loud, full-bodied laugh, pleasant to listen to; it shook his body so that his coils trembled and his scales glinted like fire.

“N-no!” He responded, still laughing a bit. “Pick one-“

Given permission, Clopin lunged forward before Jafar could finish his sentence and licked a wet path up the side of Jafar’s lower cock, hands shooting out to grasp at his waist to steady himself. Jafar’s words were cut off in a choked moan, startled into losing his train of thought. He tasted like nothing Clopin had ever experienced before. It heated his blood, the distinct otherness of Jafar, and could feel his own hard-on crying out for attention. He slid down Jafar’s cock in an open-mouthed kiss, taking one hand away from his waist to tend his own needs. He groaned lowly as he stroked himself, passing his tongue firmly over the edge of the slit where the base of Jafar’s dick met scaled flesh.

Jafar shuddered at the smaller man’s eager touch, unused to being handled in this form. He hadn’t been planning on debauchery when he came, had never wanted to have sex while in his naga form before; that changed quickly when he saw the poised way the man held a knife. Jafar had thought him an insolent, pretty but puckish street rat with no probable worth but his face, quick fingers and quicker tongue. He had been wrong – though he couldn’t possibly hurt a djinn, he wore danger like a fine cloak when threatened. It called out to the primal side of him, like to like, and heat curled within him until he had finally stepped forward to take what his blood burned for, original plans be damned.

Catching sight of the human’s masturbation, he wrapped his tail tightly around the man’s wrist and twisted his arm roughly behind his back, causing him to cry out in pain. Clopin was forced to lean forward a bit, his nose brushing against the base of Jafar’s cock. His tail held him hard enough to bruise.

“Did I say that you could touch yourself?” Jafar questioned gruffly, shaking him a bit by his hair. His claws dug into the man’s shoulders, little pinpricks of blood welling up under the pressure. Clopin whimpered and shook his head as best he could with Jafar grasping his hair so tightly, hot breath panting open-mouthed against his cocks.

“No,” he gasped out. He felt oddly unconcerned with the threat in the djinn’s voice, the various points of pain brought forth; these things only heightened his arousal. “No you did not. ‘M sorry.” He strained against Jafar’s grasp, not to pull away but to move closer, mouthing at both erections. “Let me make that up to you.”

Jafar released the human’s wrist and pressed him forward, snake skin sliding slick-rough over his lower back, eliciting a shiver and the barest hint of a moan. It wasn’t exactly the reply he had expected – did this man even know when not to make a joke, or was he so used to propositioning mystical beings that it did not faze him? – but his eagerness was anything but unwelcome.

“Don’t let it happen again,” he demanded. Clopin shook his head again voicelessly and flexed his arm briefly before wrapping both hands around Jafar’s upper cock and his lips around the lower. He stroked and twisted, hands sliding over hard flesh slickened with precum. His head bobbed up and down on Jafar’s cock and he looked past the upper member and directly into his red eyes as he worked both meticulously. As Jafar focused on his gaze, he made sure to swallow him down all the way, pulling a dazed moan from Jafar’s lips. 

Jafar tried to feel resentful about it. He failed.

Tongue playing across Jafar’s lower erection, Clopin tried to make sure his hands were still doing their job, caressing fully across the engorged upper cock. He teased at the slit with his thumb, smearing a glob of precum around the head. His tongue kept up its intricate dance as he went down on Jafar, tasting his leaking essence. He rubbed himself against Jafar’s underbelly unthinkingly, smooth scales scraping gently and giving off heat like he had never felt before.

Jafar had stayed rather politely still up until the other began to rub himself against his sensitive underbelly. The feeling lit something inside him and with a cry of abandon he began to thrust himself deep into his mouth, fucking his throat. He slowed down only enough to pull out and thrust his upper member into the hot wet cavern instead, his lower member dragging across the man's chin and cheek. The short hair of his goatee scratched at the sensitive skin, friction setting Jafar's teeth on edge. Clopin whimpered at the rough treatment, gagging a bit, but Jafar’s many hands kept him in place, using his hair to drag him up and down Jafar’s cock. He had no choice but to take it, now stroking the spit-slick lower erection, moving his hands faster to match the frenzied pace Jafar had set. He choked a little but managed to keep from gagging too much or biting down, drool dribbling down from the corners of his mouth.

Drawing close to the edge, Jafar forced himself to stop, ripping that sweet mouth away from his cocks. The man’s eyes were glazed over and he tried to reach back towards him but Jafar was firm, pulling him forcefully to his feet. His upper set of hands held his upper arms securely, keeping him in place. One of his lower hands reached down to stroke firmly at the other’s weeping erection while the other reached around behind him to massage his puckered entrance. Clopin gasped, eyes widening at the touch.

“Wait!” He cried out in a panic, thrashing away. Startled, Jafar pulled back immediately, only keeping hold of his arms to support him.

Clopin looked at Jafar in shock, not having truly expected the djinn to stop when he asked. He tried to calm his suddenly frantic heart, fear warring to break through the lustful fog created by Jafar’s venom. If he told Jafar no, would he stop? The djinn was simply staring at him now, as though the choice was entirely up to Clopin. A thick silence lay unbroken between them.

Soberly, Clopin stepped out of the heated coils of Jafar’s tail, shivering at how cold the room seemed outside of his embrace, and walked over to his nest of pillows where a shelf held a small bottle of oil. Clear-minded, he passed the bottle to Jafar, who had followed him to the bed but had not moved to touch him again. He then moved back into Jafar’s arms, looking up at him expectantly and a bit demandingly.

Jafar had drawn away, smelling the sudden intense fear on the human. It was extraordinarily off-putting and he would no more take someone whose utter unwillingness could cut through the Mesmer of his venom than he would cut off his own dicks, but the scent was fading quickly to be replaced with strong arousal. Taking the bottle from the smaller man, he poured a liberal amount into the palm of his hand, massaging it onto his erections with a low hiss.

Turning him around and bending him over, he probed with slick fingers at the man’s entrance, encouraged by the human’s whimpers and moans of desire. When he felt he had done enough to prepare him, three of his hands lifted him off of his feet entirely while the last lined his top prick up against his hole. He slowly settled the man down onto his cock with a drawn out groan, the other keening a counterpoint note low in his throat. He gave him a few seconds to grow used to the penetration before slamming up into him, making him yelp and tremble. He was tight, almost too tight, and his lower cock nestled between the man’s balls and up against his dick, creating a double sensation of friction for both of them.

“Do you ever plan to steal again?” Jafar asked darkly, bucking up into him harshly.

Clopin gasped and cried out, trying to speak. “N-n…”

“No?” Jafar prompted, and caressed his cheek, brushing his hair, damp with sweat, away from his face.

“N-n-not from you,” Clopin breathed, “Never from you.”

Jafar laughed and adjusted his grip. “Good enough for me.” 

Clopin’s cries grew louder and louder as Jafar fucked him savagely, filling and stretching, his unaccustomed body giving under the ministrations. His legs were spread wide by Jafar, one lower hand clutching his knee, purpling the bruise there further, while the other supported his thigh. His claws dug into his flesh with every thrust, leaving scratches and gouges in his skin. The sensation of Jafar’s cock both inside of him and rubbing against him was maddening and he screamed as Jafar found and hit his prostate repeatedly.

“Jafar,” he whispered his name like a prayer, uttered it, moaned it, shouted it, said it every way he could, “Jafar!”

“That’s right,” Jafar panted. He wrapping a hand around the other’s neck and squeezed until he knew black spots swam in his vision. Feeling himself drawing close, he tilted the man’s head back and spoke directly into his ear, long tongue flicking out to lick at his cheek. “I like it when you scream my name. Cum for me, اللص الصغير,” his curled beard scraped against the human’s jaw, “let me see your face when you lose yourself for me.”

His fourth hand insinuated itself between their cocks, playing for a moment with his balls before long fingers joined his upper cock inside of the man’s opening and curled, making sure to hit just the right spot over and over as he plunged into his tight hole.

Clopin was near-mad with pleasure, one hand clenching at his thigh, drawing his legs even further apart. His other arm was extended behind him and clutched at the back of Jafar’s neck for support. The fingers forcing their way alongside Jafar’s cock _hurt_ , stretching him almost beyond what he could take, claws scraping harshly against his insides and prodding painfully at his prostate. Though the hand around his neck had loosened, Clopin still couldn’t quite catch his breath and it came in short gasps, never quite filling his lungs. It was amazing.

Feeling as though he might explode, he grit his teeth, gazing through lidded eyes back at Jafar’s face. His cheeks burned, blood rushing to his head and making him dizzy as he lost air. He tried to hold back, wanting to experience the intense feelings for as long as he could hold on to them, but Jafar’s tail curled around the head of his cock and pumped him. The thin tip caressed his slit before sliding into his dick just as Jafar came inside with a grunt; the feeling of hot cum filling him up and the prehensile appendage slipping within him sent him spiraling into orgasm just after. Cum from both of them coated his stomach and Jafar’s tail, dripping from his hole and down his thighs. He thought he might scream, but all that came out was a sort of drawn-out sob.

Jafar shuddered through his own release, fingers clutching so tightly at the man’s limbs that his knuckles turned white, though he managed to move the hand around his neck into his hair instead so as to not actually kill him. It had built up fast and surprised him in its intensity, leaving him feeling sated and calm. He pulled the smaller man off of his upper member gently, chuckling softly when he heard the other whine at the separation, and set him to his feet.

Before he could embarrass himself by falling over, Clopin grabbed Jafar boldly by the hand and pulled him down onto the pillows, noting with somewhat distant interest that the tail had disappeared along with the extra penis and set of arms. Left behind was normal-looking, if attractive, human body. He flopped himself across the djinn as though he had always been there, trying to slow his breathing as the last tremors of orgasm worked their way through his body.

“Were you planning to fuck me when you came here?” He asked frankly, tired but content and with absolutely none of the fear Jafar had come to expect from those who had seen his naga form. “It’s not much of a punishment, not that I am complaining.”

“No,” Jafar responded, a bit sheepishly even. “Actually I planned to torture you a bit and leave you senseless, but you were so enticing once I got you riled up that I was entirely distracted.” He rolled his shoulders nonchalantly, trying to play it off. “You learned your lesson anyway, so it’s no real loss.”

They lay like that for a while, soaking in the afterglow. Clopin turned over so that they lay chest to chest, entwining their legs. Jafar’s arm moved to wrap around Clopin’s waist, holding him in place.

“What did you even want my purse for, اللص الصغير?” Jafar asked, looking around the man’s home. Though very modest in size, it was draped in expensive fabrics and filled with odd trinkets and pretty baubles. “You seem to be well-off enough as it is.”

“For m’daughter,” Clopin replied sleepily, eyes closed and words slurred. “She’s turnin’ 14. There’s a box in th’ window of th’ jewelsmith’s I wan’d to get ‘er,” he yawned. “But the smith wouldn’ take mah money. Will you be ‘round for a while?” He questioned in return, and let his mind continue to drift further towards sleep rather than wonder why he cared at all.

“I had planned to be ‘around’ for a month or so,” Jafar told him. He looked down calculatingly on the half-asleep man, contemplating.

“Maybe longer, now.”

He pulled a blanket over the two of them and closed his eyes.

“Sleep.”

-

When Clopin awoke, he was still warm all the way through from Jafar’s immense body heat and agreeably sore. He reached up to finger at his neck; the wounds there had healed over as though they happened months before, but the dark hot welts pleasingly remained. The djinn was nowhere to be seen, but on the crate where his purse once sat was a gold filigreed trinket box.

**Author's Note:**

> Can you guess what Jafar says in Arabic? The first phrase is rather predictable; the second becomes almost a petname...
> 
> I originally wrote this for someone I RP'd with on Tumblr, who played Jafar to my Clopin. I specifically incorporated as many of our characters' kinks as possible without losing the flow of the story. The descriptions of Jafar's naga form are taken from her, and I questioned her extensively as to his anatomy. I based my descriptions around that, my own little research into nagas, and of course the visuals from the movie.
> 
> A note on the sex: The venom is a potent aphrodisiac, but it doesn't take away independent thought. 
> 
> There is no way around it - the consent here is extremely dubious at first. Clopin is actually pretty much on board from the get-go. If you look closely, you can actually find the exact moment Jafar's plans change, as well, and he says "fuck it" to reason. Clopin was all sorts of befuddled by Jafar, but not in any way that clouded his judgement. Jafar would also not have taken things so far without some form of permission in his eyes, however - his morals are blackened but existent, and he does have limits. When Clopin asked him to stop, he did. I say this not to redeem Jafar, but to point out that Clopin was so afraid for a moment, it cleared his head entirely of the venom's influence. I am IN NO WAY agreeing with, excusing or accepting this behavior, but fact is fact and I followed what the character and situation called for. Why Clopin was afraid at all, however, is another story, and one that I will not be writing here.


End file.
